On to the third, and final, part of this story. I briefly considered punching it up a bit, making it a bit sexier. I want to give you bitches a hot story; I know bitches love a hot story. (Sorry, that sounded funnier in my head than it looks now that I've written it.) But instead, you're going to get the real story. And it's just not that hot. Some of the details are fuzzy, but that has more to do with how lame it was than how much I'd had to drink (though that obviously plays a part in it as well.)
Zeke's apartment was on the ground floor, which was fortunate because I don't know how well I would have navigated stairs at that point. I knocked on, then pounded on, his door (not a euphemism) but he didn't answer. What the hell? Was the fucker already asleep at (looking at my watch) 1:30 in the morning? Oh, shit, it'd gotten later than I thought! Time flies when you're passed out, I guess. I might have been better off just going on home and sleeping it off.
But as they say, there's no rest for the horny, and I'd decided there would be no sleep for the intended target of my horniness. Iwalked stumbled around to the back of the building and starting pounding on Zeke's window (still not a euphemism), softly hollering out his name. After what seemed like seconds, but was probably long, long minutes for his neighbors, he looked out his window and saw me.
I need to interject some physical details about Zeke at this point, as I've just realized I neglected to do that. All great sex stories have the part where the participants are described in exacting details. Zeke was about 4 inches shorter than me, and though he wasn't skinny, I was fat so I outweighed him by about 50 lbs. He had curly, orange-red hair than normally hung down to his shoulders, but this night he had a bad case of bed head. He kind of looked like a pasty-white version of Buckwheat, to be frank about it.
He gave me the kind of look that you only see from people who were in a deep, comfortable sleep and then rudely awoken by a drunk, horny teen. I'm guessing he did the mental coin flip: "heads I go back to sleep, tails I get some head. Hm, best two out of three. Dammit!" He sighed and gestured for me to go back around to the front (still not a euphemism), and I hurried around.
He had a sheepish grin on his face when he opened the door and stood aside to let me in. "Hey, Zeke," I drunkenly whispered, which meant I was probably at least 10 dbs louder than I would have been if I'd just spoken normally. "You can't sleep either?"
"Blow me," he growled, but still grinning.
"Funny you should mention that!"
Aside: Okay, I'm not going to try to make this sexier than it really was, but I will try to make the dialogue a little more interesting. :end aside.
Well, we both knew what I was there for, and now that Zeke was waking up he was getting into it too. We went back to his room and he lit a few candles. (He wasn't being romantic by any means, he just hadn't paid his electric bill in a few months and was cut off.) While he was doing that, I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, and I might have nuzzled his neck. He tensed for just a second, then relaxed while I undid the button on his shorts and let them drop to the ground. I fondled his cock for a bit, then he turned towards me. I don't know if he'd intended to kiss me or not, but I didn't give him the chance. I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth. He wasn't fully erect, but his dick grew as I sucked on it. After a very short time he pulled out of my mouth.
"You still have all your clothes on, Rob," he said, laughing nervously. I was too drunk to be concerned about my appearance at that point, so I pulled off my shirt, kicked off my shoes, and shucked off my pants and underwear (tighty-whities, if you must know.) "Let's get on the bed," he suggested.
He hopped on the edge like he did the first time, and just like then I leaned over and started sucking him again. This time he gave me some guidance, told me to use my hands, and maybe it was at least a little better than the first time. Soon, though, he told me to stop.
"Get on the bed with me," he said. "I want to suck you too." His bed was a double, kind of small but there was enough room for both of us. He directed me to lay opposite him and scooted down so his cock was near my face. I played with him and took some time looking at it. He was circumcised (did I mention that before?), and probably a little smaller than I am now; maybe around 5.5" or 6", and not very thick. Not a bad "starter" dick, if you know what I mean.
Meanwhile he was playing with my dick, and I was introduced to a condition that many men have to contend with: whiskey dick! Between the alcohol and being just plain nervous (despite my bravado) I wasn't even able to get a chubby. But Zeke was a real trooper and didn't let that deter him; he leaned over and started sucking on me just as I took his cock in my mouth again.
Even without a hard-on, feeling his mouth on me was pretty good. And my cock did start to grow a little bit, which must have excited him because his dick got a little bigger, and harder, too. The position was awkward, with both of us laying on our sides and leaning over the other, so he just kind of rolled on top of me in a classic 69. With this position, I think I was able to get most of his cock in my mouth (he really wasn't that long, I guess), and my nose was brushing against his balls. He wasn't very hairy, as I remember it.
He was alternately stroking my shaft as he sucked me (probably just with a finger and thumb, though, as I never did get fully erect) and fondling my balls, which felt pretty good, so I tried to mimic what he was doing. I don't remember tasting any pre-cum, but my mouth was juicier than it had been the first time. My fingers were wet from stroking him while sucking, and without really thinking about it I reach up and over, and tapped on his back door (there's the euphemism!) He groaned when I did and said "Now that's what I like!" I worked my finger in and out until I was past the second knuckle; I had no knowledge of prostates at the time, but I must have been working his pretty good.
After a bit of this he lifted up and turned around, and said "I want you to fuck me!" Now this hadn't been part of my plans at all, but I was willing to try it at that point. He got some kind of lube off of a shelf near us and smeared some on my dick (which was still mostly soft) and his asshole. He tried his best, but the most he could do was get the head in just a bit and kind of move around. The more he worked at it, the smaller his dick got until he was practically as deflated as I was. He got more frustrated, which increased the tension and also made it less and less likely that I would get hard enough to penetrate him.
Finally he gave up, and I asked if he wanted me to finish him with my mouth. It was what I'd wanted all along, dammit! He said no, and that the mood had passed since I couldn't get a hard-on. I apologized and said it was just because I was so drunk, and next time would be better.
"I don't think there will be a next time," he said, with just a hint of bitterness.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Well, this was okay, but you're really not my type. I just don't think it would work out."
That stung a little. "I'm not your type? Why, because I'm fat?" I was starting to get in a pissy mood.
"Well, yea, that's it mostly," he said, haughtily.
I felt a little crushed. I wasn't attracted to Zeke, and I sure didn't want a romantic relationship with him, but he was a friend and a convenient outlet for my curiosity. His words stung, and for a moment I thought I'd just get dressed a leave, angrily, and maybe write him off for at least a while.
But I didn't; instead I shook it off and we started talking. I asked him about his experience with being with guys, and it turned out there had only been two: an older cousin and a guy who was a circus roadie (or maybe the cousin was the circus roadie; I don't know.) He talked about a girl he was seeing and fucking, and basically we just moved back into being friends. Maybe it was my weight, or maybe Zeke felt inadequate, like it was his fault I couldn't get hard. I don't know and I suppose it doesn't really matter.
After that night we remained friends, and hung out together quite a bit, but neither of us mentioned it again until a few years later. He brought it up when I was home on leave (I was in the Army) and he and I were riding around. He hinted at wanting to fool around and I gently, but firmly, shut down that conversation; I was at a different point in my life, and was a good 3 or 4 years away from really feeling the urge to do anything with a man again.
I still feel bad about the way that night ended, and what was really a lost opportunity. I wish I'd waited until another time when I wouldn't have been so drunk, and maybe both of us would have enjoyed it more. Or maybe I would have been too uptight to even do as much as I did. I only told one person about that night, a bisexual girl I dated in college (but never fucked.) She asked why I didn't kiss him, and I told her it never crossed my mind. I just wanted to suck his dick, not make out. Kissing would have made it... gay, or something.
One last thing from that episode: the next morning I woke up, hung-over as hell, to find my friend Patrick standing by my bed calling my name. He had been one of the guys with my cousin and I the night before, and came by to check on me. I had this weird idea that he was a master lock picker of some kind, but it turns out I'd just left the door unlocked. My cousin later told me he'd sent Patrick over. I'd driven Chuck home the night before, and he waited about 20 minutes to call the house to make sure I was there. Of course I wasn't and he had been worried about me.
Zeke's apartment was on the ground floor, which was fortunate because I don't know how well I would have navigated stairs at that point. I knocked on, then pounded on, his door (not a euphemism) but he didn't answer. What the hell? Was the fucker already asleep at (looking at my watch) 1:30 in the morning? Oh, shit, it'd gotten later than I thought! Time flies when you're passed out, I guess. I might have been better off just going on home and sleeping it off.
But as they say, there's no rest for the horny, and I'd decided there would be no sleep for the intended target of my horniness. I
I need to interject some physical details about Zeke at this point, as I've just realized I neglected to do that. All great sex stories have the part where the participants are described in exacting details. Zeke was about 4 inches shorter than me, and though he wasn't skinny, I was fat so I outweighed him by about 50 lbs. He had curly, orange-red hair than normally hung down to his shoulders, but this night he had a bad case of bed head. He kind of looked like a pasty-white version of Buckwheat, to be frank about it.
He gave me the kind of look that you only see from people who were in a deep, comfortable sleep and then rudely awoken by a drunk, horny teen. I'm guessing he did the mental coin flip: "heads I go back to sleep, tails I get some head. Hm, best two out of three. Dammit!" He sighed and gestured for me to go back around to the front (still not a euphemism), and I hurried around.
He had a sheepish grin on his face when he opened the door and stood aside to let me in. "Hey, Zeke," I drunkenly whispered, which meant I was probably at least 10 dbs louder than I would have been if I'd just spoken normally. "You can't sleep either?"
"Blow me," he growled, but still grinning.
"Funny you should mention that!"
Aside: Okay, I'm not going to try to make this sexier than it really was, but I will try to make the dialogue a little more interesting. :end aside.
Well, we both knew what I was there for, and now that Zeke was waking up he was getting into it too. We went back to his room and he lit a few candles. (He wasn't being romantic by any means, he just hadn't paid his electric bill in a few months and was cut off.) While he was doing that, I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, and I might have nuzzled his neck. He tensed for just a second, then relaxed while I undid the button on his shorts and let them drop to the ground. I fondled his cock for a bit, then he turned towards me. I don't know if he'd intended to kiss me or not, but I didn't give him the chance. I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth. He wasn't fully erect, but his dick grew as I sucked on it. After a very short time he pulled out of my mouth.
"You still have all your clothes on, Rob," he said, laughing nervously. I was too drunk to be concerned about my appearance at that point, so I pulled off my shirt, kicked off my shoes, and shucked off my pants and underwear (tighty-whities, if you must know.) "Let's get on the bed," he suggested.
He hopped on the edge like he did the first time, and just like then I leaned over and started sucking him again. This time he gave me some guidance, told me to use my hands, and maybe it was at least a little better than the first time. Soon, though, he told me to stop.
"Get on the bed with me," he said. "I want to suck you too." His bed was a double, kind of small but there was enough room for both of us. He directed me to lay opposite him and scooted down so his cock was near my face. I played with him and took some time looking at it. He was circumcised (did I mention that before?), and probably a little smaller than I am now; maybe around 5.5" or 6", and not very thick. Not a bad "starter" dick, if you know what I mean.
Meanwhile he was playing with my dick, and I was introduced to a condition that many men have to contend with: whiskey dick! Between the alcohol and being just plain nervous (despite my bravado) I wasn't even able to get a chubby. But Zeke was a real trooper and didn't let that deter him; he leaned over and started sucking on me just as I took his cock in my mouth again.
Even without a hard-on, feeling his mouth on me was pretty good. And my cock did start to grow a little bit, which must have excited him because his dick got a little bigger, and harder, too. The position was awkward, with both of us laying on our sides and leaning over the other, so he just kind of rolled on top of me in a classic 69. With this position, I think I was able to get most of his cock in my mouth (he really wasn't that long, I guess), and my nose was brushing against his balls. He wasn't very hairy, as I remember it.
He was alternately stroking my shaft as he sucked me (probably just with a finger and thumb, though, as I never did get fully erect) and fondling my balls, which felt pretty good, so I tried to mimic what he was doing. I don't remember tasting any pre-cum, but my mouth was juicier than it had been the first time. My fingers were wet from stroking him while sucking, and without really thinking about it I reach up and over, and tapped on his back door (there's the euphemism!) He groaned when I did and said "Now that's what I like!" I worked my finger in and out until I was past the second knuckle; I had no knowledge of prostates at the time, but I must have been working his pretty good.
After a bit of this he lifted up and turned around, and said "I want you to fuck me!" Now this hadn't been part of my plans at all, but I was willing to try it at that point. He got some kind of lube off of a shelf near us and smeared some on my dick (which was still mostly soft) and his asshole. He tried his best, but the most he could do was get the head in just a bit and kind of move around. The more he worked at it, the smaller his dick got until he was practically as deflated as I was. He got more frustrated, which increased the tension and also made it less and less likely that I would get hard enough to penetrate him.
Finally he gave up, and I asked if he wanted me to finish him with my mouth. It was what I'd wanted all along, dammit! He said no, and that the mood had passed since I couldn't get a hard-on. I apologized and said it was just because I was so drunk, and next time would be better.
"I don't think there will be a next time," he said, with just a hint of bitterness.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Well, this was okay, but you're really not my type. I just don't think it would work out."
That stung a little. "I'm not your type? Why, because I'm fat?" I was starting to get in a pissy mood.
"Well, yea, that's it mostly," he said, haughtily.
I felt a little crushed. I wasn't attracted to Zeke, and I sure didn't want a romantic relationship with him, but he was a friend and a convenient outlet for my curiosity. His words stung, and for a moment I thought I'd just get dressed a leave, angrily, and maybe write him off for at least a while.
But I didn't; instead I shook it off and we started talking. I asked him about his experience with being with guys, and it turned out there had only been two: an older cousin and a guy who was a circus roadie (or maybe the cousin was the circus roadie; I don't know.) He talked about a girl he was seeing and fucking, and basically we just moved back into being friends. Maybe it was my weight, or maybe Zeke felt inadequate, like it was his fault I couldn't get hard. I don't know and I suppose it doesn't really matter.
After that night we remained friends, and hung out together quite a bit, but neither of us mentioned it again until a few years later. He brought it up when I was home on leave (I was in the Army) and he and I were riding around. He hinted at wanting to fool around and I gently, but firmly, shut down that conversation; I was at a different point in my life, and was a good 3 or 4 years away from really feeling the urge to do anything with a man again.
I still feel bad about the way that night ended, and what was really a lost opportunity. I wish I'd waited until another time when I wouldn't have been so drunk, and maybe both of us would have enjoyed it more. Or maybe I would have been too uptight to even do as much as I did. I only told one person about that night, a bisexual girl I dated in college (but never fucked.) She asked why I didn't kiss him, and I told her it never crossed my mind. I just wanted to suck his dick, not make out. Kissing would have made it... gay, or something.
One last thing from that episode: the next morning I woke up, hung-over as hell, to find my friend Patrick standing by my bed calling my name. He had been one of the guys with my cousin and I the night before, and came by to check on me. I had this weird idea that he was a master lock picker of some kind, but it turns out I'd just left the door unlocked. My cousin later told me he'd sent Patrick over. I'd driven Chuck home the night before, and he waited about 20 minutes to call the house to make sure I was there. Of course I wasn't and he had been worried about me.
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